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Other Colors -- Ch. 13

bdsm mascodagama 2018-12-02

Whenever he turned his eyes to me, I tried hard to look like I was listening—I really didn’t want to be rude—and wound up catching every third word or so that left his lips. “So once upon a time,” his gaze darkened, and I listened as, each in its turn, he cracked his knuckles on the edge of the table, “Miss de Milo either vainly bared her little body to us—or else she was shy, and tried to hide it. “You won’t worry about your food, your bills, your bed,” he tilted his head, and dropped his eyes to my bare shoulder, “or any other thing that might trouble you.

Other Colors - Ch. 25

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He caught me by the wrist, “What did I tell you?” he squeezed, “What did I ask?” Slowly, I felt him slide off my mitten, and lay a cruel, tender kiss on my hand, “I asked if you could trust me, Penny. “And you were still an angel, Penny,” he stroked my chest once more, and I felt myself begin to split, “even after someone plucked away your wings…” His words fell over me like a layer of frost, “Are you ready?” I want you to know,” he slipped his hands lower, down to the dimples just above my buttocks, and I fought away an unwelcome flutter of arousal as he squeezed, “In a perfect world, Penny,” he growled, “I’d be cruel only to kind.”

Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 2)

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I’d have stood there for him—shaking, shivering, and furious—until either he brought me back inside and warmed me up beside the fire, or with teeth chattering and lips blue, I collapsed in a head into the snow. “I am too,” he smirked, and stepped away, opening up a little cellaret in the corner, “You kept distracting me at work today. ‘HURRY UP PLEASE, IT’S TIME…’ I shut my eyes, throwing back the last gulp like a foul ecbolic; then let him lead me, half-choking, into the hall. “Understand, Penny,” once more, he turned to me, his face somber, almost ashen, “whatever it may look like, and however it may feel—you’ll always be safe inside this house." He drew me up onto the steps with him, “There will be times when I hurt you.

Other Colors - Ch. 26

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“I know,” I breathed, shrinking beneath his glare, “it’s just, I kind of liked the candle,” I glanced down, eyeing the imprints my teeth had left in the taper. When I’m upset.” I bit my lip, and batted my eyes, “What do you think?” my skin seared, “Do I have an oral fixation, Doctor Caine?” He ran his hand along my spine, his voice still rasping after his own receding spell of spasms, “No,” he stroked my hip, gently withdrawing as he freed my knees, “you didn’t pee, Penny,” he paused, “…Is this your first time?” I liked to lie down, and let the water hit me just right.” I bit my lip, “but this one time, I turned over.

Other Colors - Ch. 17

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She didn’t run off right away, but pursed her lips at me, and cocked her head. I cared about Peter, and in a parallel dimension—one where Dmitri Caine had never swept me up off the floor at the gallery; one where he’d been there when I needed bailed out of jail—I might have wanted to see what was there between us. I lowered my eyes, “So. You already know, then…” I bit my lip, “I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from me first.” I hated imagining Dmitri, strung along with this cruel man, masquerading as a medical scientist; playing his terrible little mind games on people who were genuinely suffering.

Other Colors - Ch. 4-5

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And when I opened my eyes, and turned back toward to the chapel in the window, I felt, for a moment, completely certain that either the incense, the sacramental wine, the cocoa, or some combination of the three had intoxicated me to point of hallucination—because pacing steadily up Rue Saint-Paul, right across from the café, was a man who looked very much like Mr. Caine. Apart from knowing that I wouldn’t go home to Nags Head, and I that I couldn’t stay in Montreal, I understood very little of what would become of me during that time.

Other Colors -- Ch.16

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“Well,” he ran a hand through his hair, “when you do decide to leave this place, Miss Foster,” his words were strict, “you might not want to waste any time about it. “When I was really little,” I breathed softly, and let my eyes lose focus, “like, four or five, I guess… I liked to sleep in his flannels while he was away.” I chewed my lip, remembering, “I’d steal them from the bottom drawer of his dresser. “You think you’re quite persuasive, don’t you, Miss Foster?” he ran a rough hand through his hair, and closed his eyes.

Other Colors - Ch. 19

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Like a hallucinogen—like van Gogh’s camphor, or Lewis Carroll and his Amanita muscaria—my tolerance to the remedy had emerged in a matter of hours. I furrowed my brow and curled my toes, stabbing anxiously at the painting, desperate to exorcise whatever blue-winged demons were gnawing and nettling my body. Inside of my eyelids, floating on a grim pool of eigengrau, I watched the lights wither, bloom, and wither again, like glimmering water lilies of white, violet, and red. I let them linger, I think, a little too long. It wasn’t until the third or fourth tolling that I could bring myself to let go of the door handle, and edge my way sheepishly back to his desk. I gazed down at the accursed contraption, crying out for me like some shrill and colicky infant. Slowly, numbly, lifted it up from the cradle, and held it up to my ear.

Other Colors - Ch. 20 (section 1)

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“ Peut-être ,” I murmured, hoping against hope to extinguish just a single iota of the tension building back up inside me, “…if looks could kill, Monsieur.” “Je crois qu’ils peuvent,” he raised his hand to his lips, fixing his glare as he tasted each of the fingertips he’d used to touch me, and to wipe away my tears, “Mais pas ce soir.” I shuddered, and looked on nervously as he unknotted his necktie, slipping it free from his throat. “My Christ,” he spoke, incinerating me as he set his hand on my temple, “how you’ll suffer for me.” I felt a warm tear escape from beneath my blindfold, and he brushed it lightly away from my cheek, “These lips.

Other Colors -- Ch. 15 (part 1)

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Each time I did, I heard his voice inside my head; dark and dulcet, reciting each word as clearly as if he’d been standing right behind me, his lips bristling against my ear. I’m not sure how long I went without stopping, but several hours must have slipped by at least. The moment my pastel met the page, my mind dissociated itself from the passage of time, and a sense of space dilated to become my only means of orientation. I traced out some anastomotic ivy tendrils, and the dangling, velvety bells of a foxglove flower.

Other Colors -- Ch. 1-3

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Peter looked up at the rafters, “You know, I actually just started something pretty huge of my own—biggest piece I’ve ever attempted.” He shifted his weight, “You should come by the studio sometime. I thought we were going to shake, but instead I watched in silent alarm as he bowed his head and, raising my hand up to lips, softly kissed the place where I had pricked my finger. But I can’t recall a single word of what we said to each other for the rest of the night—my mind was filled, entirely, by my new painting, my imaginary bed, and by the prickling skin below my shoulder; marking the spot where Dmitri Caine had laid his hand. 

Other Colors -- Ch. 6-7

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I’d run out to buy the supplies during my lunch break, using up about half the roll of bills Mr. Caine gave me; and while Madame closed up the shop at the end of the day, I changed into my painting clothes in the same dressing room where I’d donned her Saint-Laurent cocktail dress just two days earlier. I shared the cell with three heavily pierced and tattooed vulgaire prostituées who looked to be approaching their forties, a woman in a torn dress too drunk to speak, and a few other generally scary people who I’d be slightly frightened to encounter on the street, let alone get locked up with in a dungeon.

Other Colors -- Ch. 18

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That I could fall for a girl; that I could think she was the loveliest creature I’d ever laid eyes upon—and still, want nothing more in the world than to possess, degrade, and ruin her.” His words turned to steam in my ear, “Those thoughts—lurid, alluring. With that, the line went silent. Like far-off thunder, his last words rumbled heavily in my ear. I staggered back against the desk, still clutching the phone, and my hands trembled a little as I lowered it onto the cradle. I folded them tightly, attempting to smother the tremor, and glanced at my dim reflection in the window. Aroused, almost breathless, and half-hallucinating, I felt my hand sweep downward, and slip itself between my thighs. ‘It pleases me, Penny, to know that you're suffering.’ I felt my chest tighten as my fingertips grazed against my lips.

Other Colors - Ch. 20 (section 2)

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By the time his final stroke fell, I was shaking, panting, and just barely beginning to float back down into my body. I heard him expel a long, gravel-laden sigh somewhere above me, and felt his limbs buckle slightly as he slowly slid himself out, and left me. I could tell you that prior to tonight, I've only been capable of enjoying the latter.” He paused, and ran a hand roughly along his jaw, “But either way, I know of no position more vulnerable for a man,” he put his thumb to my bottom lip, and lowered it softly, “than with his cock caught between someone's teeth.

Other Colors -- Ch. 11

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Sometimes out of the corner of my eye, I’d catch her winking at me in dusty, half-reflective window; and each time I felt the unsettling tingle of déjà vu, I knew that she was near. “It turned a little cold that evening,” I knew he meant the weather—and I knew, at the same time, he didn’t, “And you left without your coat, Penny.” A long-drawn and silent moment passed—the entire time, he didn’t break his star—until without a word, he took my head in his hands, and guided me gently against him. I mean…” I steadied myself carefully—I didn’t want to let him to see tears in my eyes again, “You obviously know how to get it.

Softening the Peach Ch. 01

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Your delicate hands reach up to your throat and begin to unbutton your navy colored blouse. You lean forward, placing your hands on my knees and slowly slide them up my thighs. You've slid your hands down to rest with your palms flat against your lower back, pushing your breasts out and jutting your right hip towards me. My mouth goes dry and I slide my hand into my jeans and adjust my cock. Your left hand moves to rub my balls through the soft fabric and the other reaches up to fist the waistband of my boxers. You press it along the side of your face, turn gently to the left and place a small, chaste kiss at the base.